If You Speak Love
by Gosangoku
Summary: "You have heard the phrase 'Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them'  ...  I believe that you fit all three." - US/UK/US.


_Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them._

Curious (and yet much more knowledgeable, if not painstakingly increasing in wisdom) marine blue depths peered down at the man who had knocked on his door. He hadn't been expecting visitors, so he was fairly puzzled but not all too concerned with who could be visiting. But when the oak door was shoved open, he smiled sheepishly, prepared to apologise for forgetting his own strength, when astonished emerald eyes (more beautiful and yet more deceptive than he had remembered) flickered up into his own.

"England," he breathed in a shocked whisper, tilting his head and stepping aside, recalling his manners. "May I ask what you're doin' here?" he enquired, tone one of slightly forced civility, but he sounded as innocent as ever, and he primarily pinned it upon how he was no looking _down_ at his... no, England wasn't a _guardian_ or an elder brother; he was an empire, and America was simply one of his many colonies. He was just another piece of land to England, one that could be used meaninglessly for finances. His self-proclaimed (perhaps not entirely _self_-proclaimed, but...) caretaker saw him solely as dirt. _I have got to remind myself of that so that my decision does not waver..._

"You forgot?" England finally responded after a pause that lasted a moment too long. He averted his eyes (When did they become so green?) before they slid back up to his face, scrutinising him almost as if he was looking for something that he was reluctant to find. He turned away, and America was left feeling slightly lost; he didn't know if England had found what he had been searching for. "I did send you a letter informing you, America," he added, tone reprimanding, and the recepient of what he assumed to be was an oncoming lecture frowned.

"My apologies, England," he murmured smoothly, allowing a stronger accent of his to slip into his voice. He slipped past England, suppressing a smirk of satisfaction as he felt the rigidity of the Brit's form, and picked up a crate of his repulsive tea with ease. He smiled at England's wary appraisal and tilted his head. "I've been mighty busy lately, what with all the taxes you been imposin' on my people." He shifted the box under one arm and grabbed another, staring up at the shell-shocked England from beneath his dirty blond bangs. "I suppose I just didn't have time to read your letters." He smiled, wondering if England could see through the half-hearted facade of pleasantries.

The nation scowled at him, raising his eyes as America stood to his full height, before he sighed softly, the sound oddly despondent to America's ears. He was accustomed to frustrated words and senseless babble in Gaelic, but quiet and dejected sighs were a sound that England did not often make. "Let's go inside, America," he offered, and America bristled. _England_ was inviting him into his _own_ home. _Of course_, he thought bitterly, not even feigning a smile this time as he brushed heavily past England, revelling in momentary childish pleasure when the older of the two stumbled backwards at the force. _I am his colony, after all..._

Unperturbed my America's impertinance - or at least not showing it - England set about brewing some tea, either oblivious or indifferent to the lingering threat of _something_ in the atmosphere. "I don't really want tea, England," America ventured quietly, voice lax and laidback, but it was forced; the underlying threat evident in the venomous words. He could vaguely hear a quiet screech as the tea began to heat, steam seeping out swiftly.

England hardly paused, and America couldn't see his expression; couldn't fathom whether or not his words had had much effect. "Do not be absurd, America," he replied, voice somehow soft and stern at the same time. "We always chat over tea."

"Things change."

The older man stopped at that. Obviously, something about those words had got to him, although America had no idea what. Hesitantly, he realised that it was because England _never_ shared anything personal with him; brushing off battles and missing out the details, avoiding talk of the past entirely and instead focusing on money, money, always blasted _money_.

The noise stopped, a soft clink replacing the screech, and the steam dissipated from the atmosphere. He uncurled his fists and let out a shakey breath, fingers still trembling and teeth still grinding. He stared down at the tea, pure revulsion and abhorrence in his darkening gaze.

"America," England murmured, tone oddly complacent for how stifled America felt at that moment. Hearing the Briton speak his name so formally, politely, and yet so familiarly, he felt a strange sense of vulnerability mingled with fury. He couldn't understand it at all. And why were those green eyes so fixated upon the disgusting liquid, the tablecloth, the broken window, _anywhere but America_? "You have heard the phrase '_Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them_'." It wasn't a question.

"Shakespeare," he muttered in response, recalling the same words spoken with great vigour a while ago. He had never really bothered to understand it, but hearing the same lexis spilling from England's lips, he found himself piecing it together. "What about it?" he asked, curious despite himself.

England sipped his tea slowly, half-lidded gaze trained upon the window, shattered glass fragments lining the sill. He breathed out slowly, and the steam from his cup travelled in wisps over to America, disappearing before they could reach him. "I believe that you fit all three."

He then shut his eyes and peacefully sipped at his tea, and America knew he wouldn't speak again any time soon. Instead, as he stared down into his own cup, he pondered over the words, England's voice echoing in his mind. Why couldn't the man ever explain himself? It was infuriating; the abiguous statements followed by prolonged silence. It was always England's voice that kept him up at night, forcing him to contemplate over utterly puzzling words. Eventually, he stood, delicate china cup held by his fingertips, and he stood over the sink. "Thank you kindly, England," he muttered, voice strangely sombre given his seemingly grateful words. "But I want to achieve greatness myself."

He allowed the cup to slip through his fingers, and it shattered in the sink.

x.

_Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.  
_  
"It seems there is going to be a storm soon," England observed, gaze half-lidded and closed of as it always was.

America tightened his grasp on the stupid teacup he had. It was new and pristine and he loathed it more than England's old set. He had been forced to buy this set after shattering the other one. What infuriated him the most, however, was England's lack of reaction. He had merely exhaled softly, finished drinking his own tea as America trembled with suppressed rage over the sink, and had simply said, "Buy me a new one."

The tea in this cup had long since gone cold, but England had remained sitting, carefully grasping his third cup and waiting for America to finish his disgusting beverage. He could faintly hear his own cup chattering against the table as his hands shook. He didn't bother feigning a smile. "Yes," he agreed, voice a quiet hiss, but England didn't even look at him. "I am fairly certain that a storm is going to arrive soon... and I'm also willing to bet that it will hit hard."

Finally, _finally_, shut off emerald eyes rose up to his, and he wondered if he really wanted to see them. They were glazed over and empty. For a while now, England seemed to have been more defensive and more apathetic than before. He recalled the Brit's soft smile and approving glances whenever he had done something England had deemed respectable or proper, but now all he ever got were averted eyes or blank stares. It was disconcerting, but it also provided America with a more resolute resolve to follow through with his rebellious plans. No, no. Not simply rebellious. That didn't even begin to describe his desire to completely disentangle himself with his current caretaker. _Caretaker?_ his mind repeated incredulously, and he clutched the cup tighter as his rage rose. _Self-imposing taxing _bastard_ is more like it..._

"America..." England began, but whatever he was about to say went unfinished; opting to watch as his colony stood, throwing his full cup of tea off to the side, and England stared impassively as it shattered, the fragments spilling over the floor. The clock ticked, ominous, foreboding, warning, and, agonisingly slowly, he raised his gaze to meet America's again. "What on earth is the matter?" He scarcely had time to ask before his own cup was easily pried from his frostbitten fingers and thrown to the opposite side of the room, meeting the same fate. The remnants of tea left in his cup left a dark brown stain on the wall, the liquid dripping down speedily and meeting the otherwise clean carpet.

America's fingers dug into the wooden table, the only thing that stood in between them, and it felt like some sort of barrier - one that reflected how he felt there was an invisible one that prevented England from ever showing his true self and, oh, how he _hated _it. The wood cracked beneath his fingers, but he ignored the splinters slipping into his hands or his chipping nails. Suddenly, as England seemed to hesitate, a flicker of _something_ in his eyes, America sat down. The table creaked and shuddered, and then went silent as America leaned on it, leaning on one hand as he drew some parchment out from his suit's pocket.

"This is for you," he muttered, sliding it across the table. He offered a sardonic smirk. "Have you not taught me that it is rude not to present a guest with a gift?"

"Rather, I informed you that it is commonly the visiter who brings something to offer," England replied, tone clipped, and America's smirk broadened, satisfied with the fury lingering between dark, fiery green eyes. They dropped to scan the document America had forced upon him, fluttered repeatedly as if he didn't quite believe or comprehend it, and then just remained staring at the words. He inhaled deeply, and America wondered if he saw the older man's shoulders shaking. But he had no time to dwell on such a thought, instead scrutinising England's face for any giveaways. His lips were pursed tightly, thick brows drawn together and eyes alternating between narrowed and impossibly wide. "...What the bloody hell is this, America?" He didn't look up and the recipient of the lack of attention gritted his teeth. _Notice me! _"Independence..."

He could see the painful _why_ in the glistening emeralds and now it was his turn to want to look away, but he didn't. If he was going to do this, he had to be able to show England that he was a man. He could handle himself and he wasn't the same vulnerable newfound nation that England had found wandering aimlessly in the impossibly green fields. He was the same person, but not the same nation; he was already independent, but he needed confirmation. "I am going to be my own nation, England," he said, surprising himself with how firm he sounded. How... grown up. "Nothing that you say or do can stop me."

"I will not allow you to do this."

Marine blue eyes darkened and he frowned, startling England with the severity. "You may try," he murmured, lips twitching back into a self-assured smirk, "but you cannot succeed. No more tea for me, thank you."

x.

_My pride fell with my fortunes.  
_  
Slender, well-practiced fingers tightened their grasp on the gun, unperturbed by the slippery metal coated in droplets of rain. The sky was dark, almost pitch black in its horrifyingly fitting setting, and thunder crackled overhead. It went unheard by the two main opponents on the battlefield, although the battalions behind each of them tensed slightly, constantly on guard in case the other side dared interrupt the eerie silence with bullets.

Rain continued to cascade heavily, drenching all of the area's occupants and highlighting the resolve in the American's posture, the _disobedience_, the... the... maturity.

Chest heaving with exertion and suppressed feelings that he refused to identify, fearing weakness but almost certain that he was already too weak to... to do _that_, England closed his eyes. Thoughts of himself and his country conflicted in his mind; _Do it for your people, he has money; Don't hurt him, you know you don't want that; Your citizens require his input; You require his presence in your life... Don't, don't, don't..._

Eyes snapping open, he stared at the American whose face was barely inches from his own. Emerald eyes flickered from azure ones to the musket in his own grasp, the dent inflicted by his own knife, and then back at America. _Are you really going to do this to me? _read the expression he was receiving, and he felt his heart lurch. America looked honestly astonished, slightly fearful, but still unwilling to back down.

Unwilling to be defeated. To be England's.

_You are no longer mine anyway, are you, America?_

He heard the gun hit the floor before he realised it, and he followed soon after, sinking down as if he had just dissolved. He stared in disbelief at America's feet and couldn't help but think _This is where I belong, at his feet; I will never be good enough for America_, and only realised he had started to cry after he heard the choked sob emit from his stinging throat. Horrified, he raised a hand to cover his face, humiliated in his defeat that could be perceived as... as _voluntary_. Because of course, he... he could...

"You fool," he gasped, hating how small and weak he sounded. He... he was an Empire, he... (_Past tense, England, old boy... You should have known it would come crashing down. Losing America is only the start, of course. You are going to lose everything._) "As if I could _ever_ shoot _you_..."

He was suffocating.

"You..." _God, America, do not talk, do not... _"You used to be so big, England..."

Why had he said that? Why did he have to sound like he both _pitied_ and _loathed_ England? Why did his words have to pierce him? America might as well have shot him or stabbed him or _something_, because this invisible ache was... It was never going to disappear, was it?

_Because America... _is_ everything._

x.

_Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.  
_  
He kept his eyes on the floor as he trailed down the hallways, all of the colours blurred together in some kind of disgusting abstract mess. He was probably staggering because everything was moving, everything was circular and he couldn't see where he was going. But everything was too hot and stifling and yet too cold and foreign all at once because he couldn't stop suffocating. He often awoke with his own hands around his throat and he fell off of his mattress, gasping and heaving and choking until he forced out acidic bile.

He drank.

Burning, stinging alcoholic drinks of which he had no idea of the names, but he could not care any less. He didn't know or care who he was with when he became intoxicated either, although he wagered it alternated between Prussia and France because nobody else would willingly spend their time with him. More than once had he ended up in one of their beds, aching and unknowing before disappearing without a word and he hated how it had just become a schedule.

Once it had been Canada who had found him, utterly inebriated and unable to walk or speak, practically passed out as he leaned against a wall or fell into the road or something he couldn't recall. But he did, unfortunately, remember how he had pleadingly whispered, "America?" and Canada had flinched and smiled, took him home and never objected when England pulled the younger man over him and gasped out his brother's name.

He made sure not to drink whenever Canada was near by. It could only be France or Prussia because they were the only ones who would do it with no strings attached. No false bonds and no guilt over wrong names like how Prussia had once, without noticing, whispered, "Oh, God, Hungary, Hungary... Elizaveta... please, notice me..." into England's ear. Either he didn't remember or he didn't _want _to remember and England didn't blame him because he knew he gasped a different name and it sickened him.

He refused to look into the eyes of anyone anymore. It was wrong. _He _was wrong. And he knew that, every time he writhed and tried not to cry when someone else was helping him to forget and forcing him to remember.

x.

_No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.  
_  
What was the date again? The time had long since blurred, days losing their meaning as they formed into one mass of pain and muffled thoughts, stifled cries and lost meaning.

England could hardly recall Austria and Hungary's unadulterated rage and dejection and loss, or the words that were exchanged, the heated arguments that ensued after the successful assassination attempt on the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne. It was uncomfirmed as to whether or not that was the incentive for initiating the war, but it was a crucial factor, and none of them could deny it.

Whilst England disagreed with Austria's and Hungary's (apparently mutual) decision to invade Serbia, he knew he had no place to derrail their ideals. America had stood up and opposed during a meeting, and he backed up his once-colony (all the while telling himself not to think about who he was agreeing with and above all _do not_ make eye-contact), but they were both shot down. The two English-speaking nations spent the evening together drinking and wondering where it was going to go, although both had their assumptions, England's being slightly more pessimistic.

"They will regret it," he whispered, half-lidded gaze lingering over sparkling alcohol. He felt America's eyes on him. "At some point, every decision backfires. Every decision results in some sort of regret, even inadvertently. _I didn't mean for this to happen_, they shall think, and live with the guilt knowing that they cannot do anything about it."

They both know that England is talking about more than just the seemingly rash - even if well thought through - suggestion. "Perhaps," he agreed reclutantly, taking a sip but ensuring that he wasn't as intoxicated as England; one of them had to make sure that they got home safely, and since England couldn't hold his drink... "But perhaps good can come of it too."

England breathed a sigh of doubt and downed the rest of his foul-tasting drink. After another glass, he slumped against America's shoulder, whispering incoherent words against a warm shoulder.

America's birthday was a quiet affair, and he almost wished he had slept through it rather than invited guests. He convinced his allies to attend, but England had refused, drunken rambles of slurred insults and rhetorical questions thrown at him. When was he not drunk anymore?

Not even a month later, America headed towards France. He found England standing outside, looking small and remorseful in his too-big uniform, just staring at France's house. He stopped a few feet away from the tormented Briton, wondering if he had even noticed America's presence. Evidently, he did, for moments later, he said, "France will be fine." Green eyes flicked over to meet blue. "I have received news that Belgium and Luxembourg will recover also." His voice was monotonous and hollow, as if he believed it but didn't at the same time.

"Russia is invading Germany," America supplied in return, but England didn't appear surprised. "Did you already receive news?"

England's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "America," he murmured softly, "this is the beginning of the end."

Weeks later, they were in the trenches, panting for breath as they ducked down low, bodies pressed flush together but still freezing cold and out of breath. Fleeting touches of reassurance were exchanged but never mentioned; suppressed words flickered in their minds but were never spoken; injuries being treated by one another were done gently, carefully, but never without lingering thoughts of _what if_, and whenever their eyes met they forced themselves to look away.

x.

_Nothing can come of nothing.  
_  
It wasn't quite awkward, but it was stifling, as if air supply was constantly running low and they were always constricted. Whenever they were near one another, they were tense and subdued and fake. America feigned smiles that weren't convincing at all; small and sombre and not at all like the original America. England snapped and corrected, but his quips were sparse and were replaced with forlorn sighs he hadn't realised he had emitted.

But that didn't mean they hadn't noticed anything beyond their own hushed thoughts or hidden feelings. Both had seen how China and Japan had been eyeing one another rather than avoiding each other, more with hostility than anything like brotherly affection. Germany was consistently livid and ready to spring at any moment, throwing dark glares in Poland's direction, who quivered under his unrelenting stare.

"Why are you doing this, Japan?" England had asked, hoping his voice wasn't too melancholy and his expression didn't betray the hurt he felt. "We were allies... We are friends, are we not?"

The Asian nation appeared repentent for a moment before shaking his head. "Igirisu-san, you must know better than anyone how time changes things." It was a low blow and both of them knew it, but England had froze and Japan had been able to depart without causing a scene. After a moment of staring at an empty doorway, a large hand was on his shoulder, and an American voice murmured something about getting a drink.

And in some malformed fairytale way, they had become closer. America hadn't hesitated as he lifted an unconscious, barely breathing England, and wrapped him in bandages and embraced him until he fell into fitful slumber. He hadn't recoiled when the delirious Brit had rambled nonsense about Rome and Germania; he hadn't grimaced when England fell asleep against him and his blood soaked into America's shirt. In turn, England had never once relinquished his protective hold on America when Japan had struck him.

Why did everyone he ever care for have to hurt him? England drowned out the painful thought with more alcohol, unhappily rejecting the offer for another. He couldn't be bothered to sadden himself further with the thoughts of rations. America pointed out how thin he was too often, and it took all there was inside of him to scream, "Maybe I'm not small; maybe you became too big! Maybe I was never the big, powerful, amazing nation you once knew; maybe it was just that you only perceived me as such when you loved me! _Maybe_ I-"

Maybe he loved him.

x.

_The course of true love never did run smooth.  
_  
He couldn't remember the last time he smiled, and it felt foreign and strange doing it now. But America returned it with reciprocated feeling, and so he couldn't stop. Confetti rained from the sky and America laughed, pulling England into the storm of colour, and he felt warmth and laughter bubble inside of him too. He found himself wrapping his arms around America's neck and the other nation's strong arms holding him around the waist, mindful of the bandages and the still-not-healed torso. They exchanged smiles, honest and true, meaningful and hopeful, their lips just shy of one another's.

A crude joke from France, a muttered insult by China and a threatening cackle from Russia _almost_ forced them to tear apart, but instead they chose to ignore the ones they called allies and focus on gazing at one another. But England couldn't ignore the niggling suspicion at the back of his mind that something else was coming, not quite as big but still effective, and America inwardly fumed at the sight of bandages on England's flesh, bristled at the violet eyes watching them, and bit his lip as the strange possessiveness that overcame him like a wave. Imperceptibly, he tightened his hold on England as paranoia crept into his mind.

The two newfounded superpowers eyed one another up coldly for a while after. Only a couple of years later did the political conflict kick in. The Cold War, they had called it, and everyone deemed it fitting. England found the pure _icy_ glares that America bestowed on most other nations disconcerting, and he had to pull the larger nation away from his childlike rival more than once. They had argued about it - how England never let America launch himself at Russia and just annihilate the commie bastard, and America had pinned the Brit down, eyes wide and pupils dilated and chest heaving. Then the red haze dissipated and he found a passive England lying beneath him, utterly still and emotionless, and it was then that he realised it was a defensive mechanism.

He whispered _I'm sorry, I'm sorry_s, accompanied by fleeting butterfly kisses on England's neck, but they grew possessive once they trailed down to his severely scarred chest. He bit at the smaller nation's collarbone, growling, "You aren't anyone else's... Can't believe Germany marked your heart with such a scar... If Russia gets you, I..."

Despite England's feelings, he was so glad that it didn't escalate to more than demanding kisses. If America was going to be intimate with him, he wanted _love making_, not just sex to make a mark. He wouldn't be able to take that. And he both hated and reluctantly enjoyed how America drew him to his side whenever Russia's eyes travelled over to him, loathing how he was happy for America to want him to much.

"You know that you wish to be a capitalist country, England," America murmured, nipping at his ear, enough to sting but not to bleed, and he wondered why the superpower restrained himself so much. _You could break my neck if you wanted to, but instead you kiss me and hold me... _"You wouldn't want to be a communist like that despicable _Russia_, would you?" His eyes glinted, and a tongue darted out to lick his lips as he stared down at England. "You don't like Russia more than ya like me, do ya, England?" He leaned down, biting harshly at England's neck before sucking it softly in repentance.

"I... I'd never," England whispered, knowing it to be true. He wished America wasn't so paranoid because it was turning him into something else. _Dearest America, where have you gone to?_

A smile - bright and sweet and pure America. England felt his heart palpitate and his longing increase. "That's just swell, England."

_Do you care for me at all, or do you want me as territory? Please don't tell me that you becoming a superpower will be like me as an empire. Admittedly, I was despicable. Whilst I will always long for the power, I will, at the same time, loathe the corruption. I hate who I was, and I don't want that for you. Dearest America..._

"I'll do it for you," he muttered, eyes falling shut because he can't stand looking into eyes that were so faraway even in close proximity; eyes of the ocean that he once reigned and now had no control over. "Just do not misunderstand my intentions."

"You just said yer doin' it for me, England." A chuckle. "How can I possibly misunderstand?"

England smiled. _You are such a fool, America. You are such a fool._ A kiss on his neck, on his jaw, his eye lid, and one on his lips. _My fool._

x.

_Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.  
_  
"You've never showed up for my birthday before," America gasped, back arching and gripping England tighter, pulling him lower, deeper, because he _needed_ England. He realised that he was probably bruising England's hips with his vice grip, or cutting his thighs and back with his nails digging in and consistently tugging him closer, closer, _closer_, but at least he wasn't as hurting him as much as he could if he were the one hovering over England and losing control.

It was sometimes difficult to coerce England into initiating the contact, into pushing America onto the bed and taking control. He had asked why the Brit was so reluctant but it took a long while to persuase his lover into speaking up. England had confessed tiredly that he was afraid of so many results. He was worried that his craving for power would return to him, the strength and abilities he had as an empire, the rule over almost everyone and the appeal he had; how he had the seven seas as his control and a crew at his feet; how he had once used America for money and how he had lost everything again and again.

He was self-conscious and America knew that, but he didn't know he was also _scared _of _himself_. He somehow thought that he was the only one who was always on edge in case he lost control and overreacted, especially after his civil war... He could hardly remember it and he didn't really want to, but England obvioously remembered it because whenever he saw America's scars from it he looked hopeless, so America kissed him to help him forget. But England never forgot anything, even in his age. He often brought up words previously spoken by the American during arguments that America honestly didn't remember; he was always reminding the younger nation about important dates; pointing out that he was contradicting himself over what he said the other day... Unconsciously isolating himself as he remembered being hurt or hurting others.

America... he was glad England wasn't blind, but he also disliked just _how aware_ he was too. When he had gained independence, he craved for England to realise _why_ he had done it. Whilst England had denied it for a drastically long time, America listened to his drunken babble and the whispered gasps during his nightmares and he knew that England regretted things he had done, or at least felt bad for not regretting them. (He admitted that he didn't regret ruling the seas and having the world at his feet, but he half wished he could feel guilty for colonising so many and hurting Spain so badly...)

But for whatever reason, England was more hung up on things that had happened to him. At first, America had pinned it on selfishness, and he knew that it was still a part of it. But it was also because England hated things he had done so much that he forced himself to focus on everything that had happened to him. Drunken hazes were originally intended to be an escape from absolutely everything, but only made it worse. But England couldn't stop. He needed the numbness just for a little while so that it would stop _aching_ inside of him. _"That's why London is usually so dreary and dull," he had joked, barking a laugh that sounded more like a stifled sob. "It's my fault London's like that. My heart is never full and never content. Poor London - it never catches a break. God, sometimes I hate my capital. It is truly a villain's home." A smile, poignant to the point of heartbreaking, and America almost felt like crying when England laughed again._

"Perhaps... it's time for a - a change." England's voice materialised in his ear, and he found himself groaning underneath the older nation. He stared at England's face, flushed, open, concerned, needy, and tightened his grip on him. "Change... can be good..." He sighed softly, softly laying gentle kisses over America's exposed neck, brushing their lips together. America leaned forward, but paused when the older man whispered, "Right?"

He often needed reassurance nowadays. "Right," he agreed quietly, and then the distance between them disappeared.

There was gasped Shakespeare and Wilde and even Steinbeck and others whose names didn't really matter because everything went white, the only thing left in America's mind was England, and then the Brit disentangled himself, slipping out, and fell against his lover's chest. He nuzzled into America's neck and wrapped his arms around his neck, and America sighed as he felt tears against his skin.

"But there is something that won't ever change," he murmured into the dark room.

"And what's that?" England sounded hesitant, but his reluctance was banished with a soft kiss. He sighed into it.

"I'll never stop loving you."

x.

_Speak low, if you speak love.  
_  
"Another year's gone by."

America looked up from his book, marking the page by flipping the corner. England disliked it when he did that but he didn't mind the crease, so he ignored the English voice inside of his head that was sputtering indignantly. He placed his new gift on the sofa (Of course England had got him a book for Christmas. He got him other things too though, along with a gaudy sweater he had knitted himself, a large 'A' stitched onto it and he found it adorable and teased the Brit relentlessly but silenced him with a kiss.) and slipped over to England, sliding his arms around him and holding him to his chest. He smiled into the smaller man's hair as the older man hummed a nameless tune.

"Yeah," he agreed softly, resting his head on England's shoulder. "Another year we've been together."

England smiled and America's heart fluttered. "It's snowing," he murmured, mind obviously far away because he jumped topics unexpectedly and he usually reprimanded America for doing that.

"It is." He decided against the age jibes and instead kissed England's neck, urged by the soft moan. "It's..."

"If you utilise a terribly overused line on me with the comparison of beauty, I do believe I'll throttle you," England said, still quiet and content and America knew he was just joking. So he grinned, nipping at his neck and kissing the length of it sweetly.

"Mm... All right," he murmured amiably. "Then how about this? My love for you burns like a dying phoenix..." He licked at a mark on his lover's neck, one from last night that had made England whimper and lecture him for before being derailed by America's kisses and thrusts, the movement driving him mad and erasing any potential anger.

"Harry Potter reference," the Brit mumbled, leaning back and exposing his flesh more, squirming lightly in America's hold as pleasure drifted through his body. "I'd congratulate you on it if I didn't know that you'd found it online."

America felt his heart stop. "Ah... D-did you go through my history?" _The surprise will be ruined but it has to be perfect, I was planning it and it was going to be absolutely amazing..._

"No." He breathed a soft sigh of relief and his lips switched at the shudder England gave in response to the warm breath that ghosted over his skin. "Y-you just left that tab open... As if I'd go through your history. I'm worried about what I'd find."

"Look who's talking," America snorted, smirking and capturing England's lips when he turned to berate him, and he soon relaxed in America's arms. "Shall we take this to bed, my love?" he whispered hotly against England's mouth, pleased with the returned moan and the reddened cheeks and needy gaze.

"I wouldn't object."

America grinned and England smiled before being dipped like it was V-E Day all over again. Their lips met, parting and exchanging oxygen and meeting each other needily, clutching and gasping and moaning. America twirled the Brit as if they were dancing to music audible only to them, catching him when he staggered against his chest. His grin softened into a smile and England returned it just as softly, just as sweetly, and they didn't let go of one another's hands as they ascended the stairs.

As their fingers intertwined, clutching one another tightly, America lifted their hands and brushed a kiss against England's, and thought, _Soon we'll have rings to prove our love. Just wait until New Year's, Arthur._

"I love you, Alfred."

"I love you too, Arthur."

**x.**

_**Axis Powers Hetalia **_**belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

Shakespeare inspires me. What can I say? I just hope I don't become repetitive. Due to the excessive amount of fanfics that incorporate the revolution, I didn't want people to roll their eyes and think, "Urgh, not again." Because, admittedly, a lot of the time it is written fairly similarly and eventually you think, _**Can we get a bit of pirates and cowboys now? Kthxbai. **_**But seriously now, I want to read stories that focus on events other than the revolution, World War II and the Cold War. Whilst I have all three in here (Gosan you hypocrite), I tried to make them a bit original. I'm not sure if I was successful, but I do hope so.**

Part 1: England visits America to find that he's grown taller than him. America makes his craving for independence clear. England still sees America as his most important colony and someone who is important to him as a person too, hence the quote. He's trying to show he cares but he's so bloody bad at it.

Part 2: Boston Tea Party! (Ooh the UST! -shot!- If this was LJ, I'd strike that out.) In my personal opinion, England... He can read the atmosphere. He knew that America was acting different and he knew something was happening, but I think he just wouldn't want to admit it.

Part 3: Revolutionary War. Speaks for itself. 1776, America won, England angsted. There's a summary for you. You're welcome. (If we studied the War of Independence here in England, I'd have done a project on it, consisting solely of US and UK caricatures. Trololol.)

Part 4: Ambiguous timeline, really. Somewhere in between the revolution and the First World War. England's angsting and tries to forget but ends up with more regrets. I felt compelled to include Canada. I'm sorry, Matthew... I really like you as well as your brother, but... ;n; /guiltguiltguilt

Part 5: World War I. I don't think it was ever confirmed, but the fact that the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne and his wife were assassinated proves to be incentive for something to start. Austria-Hungary invaded Serbia and then Germany invaded Belgium, Luxembourg and France and then Russia attacked Germany for it... and, well, you can guess how it escalated. The British Empire and the United States were allied with the Russian Empire, France, Belgium and such at the time, hence why America and England met on France's doorstop and mentioned the others. The US was only in WWI for one year though, I believe; Russia for three (and left as America joined, lol); the British Empire was in it throughout though.

Part 6: World War II. I'm sure many of you know enough about this too. There are loads of hurt/comfort fics for this time... ah, I'm sorry; I spend too much time lurking in various US/UK areas. But there's also an absolutely brilliant comic/doujin on dA about it. I'll find it some other time for you. _**Anyway**_**, China and Japan had been tense around one another a couple of years prior to the beginning of WWII, hence the mention of the stares of doom. Otherwise known as Emo Glares. (See: Uchiha Sasuke.) I incorporated a moment between England and Japan (You're welcome, AsaKiku fans. Although, er, I personally don't like it much; I see it as friendship, but anyway. Sorry that it's an angsty moment though.) which ended with America comforting England. Baww. Sorry, sorry! ;; I'm just... I just need America. Everywhere. ...Dear lord, that sounds abominably creepy. I didn't mean for it to sound incriminating or- or anything! I hope it isn't perceived badly... Other than that, there's the obvious London bombings where America helped dear England (Poor baby. I torture him too much.) and then, in turn, England cared for America after Japan... well. Whiiich, after Germany's surrender, lead to...**

Part 7: The Cold War... Personally, whilst I've read a couple of good fics about the Cold War, I just can't stand Russia/America. I won't go into my personal opinion (or my jealousy, cough), but yeah. Anyway, this features paranoid!possessive!America. England isn't submissive, thank you very much, but he's just conflicted and battling with himself. Baww. He's just hopelessly in love with the bloody American. And I almost had a sex scene here but that might be in another fic. I just didn't want their first time to be one where England was only in for it to comfort America and America wasn't all there anyway. ;3; And, of course, communism and capitalism mentions are imperative. I almost went into a politics lecture but I restrained myself. (I take Government & Politics for A Level and I tend to be a bit of a know-it-all when I think I know something. I'm just... a more depressing version of Hermione. My hair is just as bushy in the mornings and after showers. And I'd probably be a Slytherin. God, I love Harry Potter. Excuse me, sorry, for I digress.)

Part 8: America's birthday, probably the year after 9/11. America needs comfort and England gives it, although I sort of ruined any hotness with Al's monologue. I'm sorry, I become far too distracted by their thoughts and opinions on one another. ;; I often ponder over how people are perceived. I think both America and England are insecure but don't really realise it even though the other does. I hope people understood what I was saying - how both are scared to hurt the other. /sap

Part 9: (I hate how I have an odd number. It was originally 10 parts, but I cut one bit out because... it just didn't fit.) This Christmas that's just passed. Not much to say, really. I like the thought of them spending Christmas together. And England making America a sweater like Ron Weasley's. Teehee, more HP! I'm so sly... In any case, um. I just... It's... I hope it isn't too sweet. As in EGADS I AM GRIMACING IN MORTIFICATION AS I AM CONDEMNED WITH CAVITIES AFTER READING SUCH ABOMINABLY SWEET SHIT. So, um. I just wanted a cute little moment between them - cute but romantic and just a bit cheesy. So they had a private little dance before rushing upstairs to unwrap their final presents. (Ohohoho. Wait, I'm not France. Why am I laughing pervertedly. Kol- HA. No.)

Bloody hell. Christ. If you read my author's notes, I truly do applaud you. Why the heck do you put up with me rambling like I do? I sound like an old man.

...That's all right though, I suppose. Because A) I am England amongst my friends and B) Many think I'm male and older than I am anyway.

I'm not offended by it, I hasten to add! I find it very amusing. My friends think I'm a hermaphrodite anyway. I used to think that a hermaphrodite was a type of crab.

I shan't apologise for abusing Shakespeare quotes but I do, however, vow to utilise quotes that spurn from sources _**other**_** than Shakespeare. I do know quotes other than his, honest! XD**

Back to lurk around the kink meme waiting for updates. I've never requested anything or filled anything, just so you know. I'm planning to, but I've not yet. I'm just reading other fills and fuming over the request freeze. Buggeration.

Anyway, I'll now get to work on my New Year's fic... I'm not sure if I'll write one or not, but meh. I wrote one last year and that was how my own America and I got talking so... Hmm.

I'm just babbling at you now. XD; As always... So, other than my incessant rambling, I do hope you guys enjoyed this and are having a lovely day, whatever day it is wherever you are. And now I need some medicine, so I bid you adieu. ^^


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